Macbeth, Act 2, Scene 1

How goes the night, boy?

How far along is the night, boy?

The moon is down; I have not heard the clock.

The moon has set; I haven't heard the clock strike.

And she goes down at twelve.

And she sets at twelve.

I take’t, ’tis later, sir.

I think it's later than that, sir.

Hold, take my sword.—There’s husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose!

Here, take my sword.—Heaven is being thrifty; their candles are all put out. Take that as well. A heavy sleepiness weighs on me like lead, and yet I don't want to sleep. Merciful powers, hold back in me the cursed thoughts that our nature lets loose when we rest!

Give me my sword.—Who’s there?

Give me my sword.—Who's there?

A friend.

A friend.

What, sir, not yet at rest? The King’s abed: He hath been in unusual pleasure and Sent forth great largess to your offices. This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess, and shut up In measureless content.

What, sir, not in bed yet? The King has gone to bed. He has been unusually happy, and has sent generous gifts out to your servants' quarters. He greets your wife with this diamond, calling her a most kind hostess, and he went to bed completely content.

Being unprepar’d, Our will became the servant to defect, Which else should free have wrought.

Since we were unprepared, our good will had to serve our shortcomings, which otherwise would have worked freely.

All’s well. I dreamt last night of the three Weird Sisters: To you they have show’d some truth.

Everything went well. Last night I dreamed of the three Weird Sisters. To you they have shown some truth.

I think not of them: Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time.

I don't think about them. Still, when we can beg an hour that suits us, we would spend it in a few words about that matter, if you'd give me the time.

At your kind’st leisure.

Whenever it suits you.

If you shall cleave to my consent, when ’tis, It shall make honour for you.

If you'll side with me when the time comes, it will win you honour.

So I lose none In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchis’d, and allegiance clear, I shall be counsell’d.

As long as I lose no honour trying to increase it, and keep my heart free and my loyalty untainted, I'll listen to your advice.

Good repose the while!

Sleep well until then!

Thanks, sir: the like to you.

Thank you, sir: the same to you.

Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.

Go and tell your mistress to ring the bell when my drink is ready. Then get to bed.

Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:— I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshall’st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o’ the other senses, Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still; And on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood, Which was not so before.—There’s no such thing. It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes.—Now o’er the one half-world Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain’d sleep. Witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate’s off’rings; and wither’d murder, Alarum’d by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl’s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost.—Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it.—Whiles I threat, he lives. Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

Is this a dagger I see in front of me, its handle turned toward my hand? Come, let me grip you. I don't have hold of you, and yet I still see you. Deadly vision, can't you be felt as well as seen? Or are you only a dagger of the mind, a false creation coming out of a fever-heated brain? I see you still, as solid in shape as this one I now draw. You show me the way I was already going, and you are the kind of weapon I meant to use. Either my eyes are being made fools of by my other senses, or they're worth more than all the rest. I still see you, and on your blade and hilt drops of blood that weren't there before. There is no such thing. It's the bloody business I'm about that shapes this before my eyes. Now, over half the world, nature seems dead, and evil dreams trouble sleep behind its curtains. Witchcraft holds its rites to pale Hecate, and shrivelled murder, roused by his sentry, the wolf, whose howl is his signal, moves toward his goal like a ghost, with a stealthy step, with Tarquin's ravishing strides. You solid, steady earth, don't hear my steps or which way they go, in case your very stones chatter about where I am and break the present horror of this moment, which now suits it. While I stand here threatening, he lives. Words breathe cold air on the heat of action.

I go, and it is done. The bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell.

I'm going, and it's as good as done. The bell is calling me. Don't hear it, Duncan, because it is a death bell that summons you to heaven or to hell.